


Wait For It

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dominance/submission, Edging, It's all sex, Kink Negotiation (kind of?), Kissing, M/M, PWP, Physical Restraint, Praise Kink, Rooftop Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:23:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: Makes sense that they would have sex in terrible places doing terrible things to each other.PWP. One-shot.





	Wait For It

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Warnings: rough sex, kink negotiation (sort of?), edging, anal sex, 
> 
> Oh, my God, what the hell am I doing? 
> 
> Yet another porny offshoot for my main WIP, _[It Takes a Village](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961093/chapters/15870307)_. The fic is going to remain gen, but apparently my brain won’t, because I went from never writing smut to writing two one-shots in the span of a couple of months – goodness gracious, what the _hell_ am I doing? 
> 
> Big thanks to the people who saw this first. I did not have the courage to post it otherwise. 
> 
> If you haven’t read _[It Takes a Village](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961093/chapters/15870307)_ or _[Light Me Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008663)_ , the smutty one-shot I wrote before this, fear not! Here’s all you need to know: 
> 
> \- Matt’s leg has been injured but is on the mend.  
> \- They’ve had sex once before.  
> \- They’re probably going to have sex again because this is who I am now, apparently. 
> 
> I should also mention that in addition to my period key, my k key has also died. I’m copy-pasting both into place. I think it’s time to get a new computer. So I can write more Matt and Fran
> 
> GDI. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Wait For It

 

            The rooftop is a worse place than the bathtub, but that makes sense for them. Makes sense that they would have sex in terrible places doing terrible things to each other. They’re literally mid-fight when Frank’s hands go from closed to open, from pushing him away to pulling him close. One hooks around his hip, the other around his shoulder, and then Matt plants his feet on the ground and drives his hips up till the only thing between their dicks is their pants, and you best believe they’re ditching those as quickly as fucking possible.

            It’s stupid. He’s so stupid. His sole focus for the past couple weeks has been walking, and now he’s about to let Frank Castle break him in half. _Again_. Why the hell isn’t he stopping this? Matt wonders for as long as it takes to yank Frank onto him. Sandwiched between the roof and the Punisher, straining for breath from the weight and Frank’s mouth bearing down on his, Matt knows exactly why he isn’t stopping this.

            He drops a hand from Frank’s waist because his pants aren’t coming down fast enough; Frank growls and throws his hand aside. Matt bucks his hips up higher, grips Frank tightly by the back of the neck, and thrusts a hand into Frank’s pants, running his dry, chapped palm over the length of Frank’s dick. The groan he gets in response in surprised, irritated. Matt rubs in his little victory by taking Frank’s lower lip between his teeth and slowly, slowly pulling away, holding the lip until the last possible moment. Meanwhile, he pushes his hand up, dragging his fingers as much as possible, letting Frank feel as much as possible.

            Another growl, louder this time. Frank’s heartbeat hits that level of geared up best reserved for botched assassinations of motorcycle gangs. He bucks back, out of Matt’s grasp, nabbing Matt by the wrist in the process; then suddenly Matt’s flipped, face slamming into the rooftop. Knees bunched under his chest. Hands pinned so tight against his lower back that he can’t hope to roll back over.

            He grunts, fighting. “NO.” The grip on his hands loosens momentarily. Matt works a leg free and kicks Frank in the thigh, knocking the Punisher off-balance. One hand comes loose; Matt uses that to roll. He twists Frank’s arm hard, gets Frank lying on the ground. Lays his broken leg against Frank’s neck; stretches the other between Frank’s legs, ready and willing to crush Frank’s balls, he tries anything like that again.

            “You look at me when you fuck me,” Matt snarls.

            Frank braces an arm against Matt’s left thigh, the hot rush of blood in his head loud against Matt’s skin. “Who says I’m gonna fuck you?”

            “Your dick, for starters.” Matt nudges his broken leg into Frank’s neck for emphasis. Then he releases, easing onto his good leg.

            Frank pounces on him anew, and this time, he puts his whole body into it. Matt’s covered in Frank, drowning in Frank, all wrapped up in Frank. He fights where he can, hands brushing over Frank’s chest and hips and dick, but the breath gets driven out of his lungs by Frank kissing him, gnawing at him; Frank grabbing him in a lock, clawing handfuls of the meat off Matt’s bones. “I fuck you how I want to fuck you,” Frank says, his calluses scraping against Matt’s back while the heat of his palms seeps into Matt’s skin, entering full bloom where his spine meets his tailbone.

            Matt gasps, body arching. Frank wraps an arm under his thighs, lifting him slightly. “This how you liked to be fucked?”  
  
            Digging his knees into Frank's sides earns Matt a small grunt in response, rousing him from that drowse of Frank’s hands on his lower back. “You’re not fucking me yet.”  
  
            “Maybe I won’t.” Frank’s hand slips down over Matt’s ass, fingers getting closer, closer, then retreating. “Maybe I’ll just work you around a little bit. Get you so _good_ and _close_ –“ Matt purses his lips, forces his hips to relax and his toes to uncurl, but none of that stops the blood from rushing into his dick, drawn by those words, those God damn words.

            Frank continues as if he hasn’t noticed, but his heart’s picking up the more Matt sinks, and suddenly his callused thumb is on Matt’s lips, pushing his jaw open. Matt fights as hard as he can given how much his head is spinning, given how much he isn’t thinking, given how hard he’s listening, how hard he’s getting. Frank’s voice marching across him like an invading army: “Maybe I back off, bring you down, work you back up again. Or maybe I hold you there, right there. Right on the edge. For hours. For days.”

            The tip of his thumbnail taps against Matt’s teeth, and Matt goes to bite him, but Frank clamps a hand over his mouth instead, shoving Matt’s head into the concrete. His other arm, the one around Matt’s hips, slides down and drags Matt’s pants with it.

            Matt clamps his legs down, twisting hard at the hips, and as Frank goes down, Matt rides him up till he’s kneeling on top. He throws a punch; Frank grabs him by the wrists and pulls his hands high. Matt dips between his outstretched arms and does things to Frank’s lips and neck that cause the grip on his wrists to loosen, that causes Frank’s bucking to turn into mutual, desperate grinding.

            Frank springs up into a sitting position. Matt braces himself to be thrown back, but he’s caught around the chest in a different kind of lock. Frank’s arms clamp around his chest, tight enough that breathing takes effort. Then one of his fingers is trickling down, the nail ripping into the winter-nipped skin of Matt’s bare ass, and then it’s in him, Frank’s index finger, with a rip all its own, and _yes_. God damn it, _yes_.

            Breathing and thinking take a backseat; Matt strains to bring them back to the fore, but his senses are honing on Frank. The finger inside him, somehow _too much_ and _not enough_ ; the hand on the back of his neck; the slow, inexorable crawl of time until Matt’s right thigh is burning from the strain of holding himself up to keep from putting more of Frank inside him. There’s breath on his neck, hot and bitter with coffee and blood. “I do what I want, for as long as I want. _That’s_ how you want me to fuck you,” Frank assures him.

            Matt saves his smirk for the last possible second. “Get the hell on with it, Frank.”  

            The finger inside him lurches up till Matt’s ass is riding Frank’s knuckle. His brain lights up like the Fourth of July. He’s rocking, riding, up for a second then right back down; Frank following him up till his strength gives out and he falls even deeper into Frank’s grasp. “You go ahead and fight me all night.” Frank puts another finger in and oh, God, it’s too much. Too much. “So much easier, you doing my work for me.” He drops his voice to a whisper and Matt knows to drown him out, knows not to listen, but there’s that word again: “You’re so _good_ for me, Red.” Suddenly Matt’s settling, and Frank’s feeling around his insides, tugging him open, open, open. Then Matt feels empty, so empty. All that space inside him, that darkness. He drives himself onto Frank’s fingers with a low whine, his skin tearing against Frank’s fingers, but God, he needs it. More. He needs more.

            Frank thrusts a third finger in while his other hand wraps around Matt’s dick and fuck, fuck, fuck. Matt moans, back arching. When the hell did he put his arms around Frank? His whole body’s just playing into Frank’s hands.  

            Things go hazy. The sting in his dick swirls straight into satisfaction; his nerves buzz like live wires running too much electricity. When Frank’s thumb comes back to his lips, Matt nips at him. The thumb thrusts under his lip, slipping back between his cheek and teeth. Slipping out. Slipping in. _Fuck._ There’s that emptiness again, in his mouth this time. Matt wraps his lips around Frank’s thumb and drinks him down, moaning as Frank’s nail drags on the roof of his mouth.

            He bites Frank, then, earning a throaty hum as Frank retracts every single one of his fingers. Matt moans his dissent loudly, body aching. The tension he’s been wearing has come loose, and now he can’t pull himself together. He’ll have to be carried off the roof or left there, pants at his knees, writhing in the cold.

            But then plastic rips. Frank’s putting his mouth to work. His hands are moving down. “What is that?” Matt asks. He sniffs. “Is that a condom?”  
  
            Frank huffs, working the rubber awkwardly over his dick between them.

            Matt reels. Thinking returns to him somewhat. “You’re carrying condoms?”  
  
            Another huff, this one with incredulity. “You complaining?”

            Matt sighs. No complaints from him, not even as Frank enters him, as Frank fucks him, every thrust riding that tragic, beautiful line between _harder_ and _faster_ and _never_ and _always._ Insides hollow and aching and _needing_. Head spinning hard as heat burns through him: rising, rising, rising until the feeling crests and holds. Fuck, Frank’s holding him there. On the verge. Just like he said he would. 

            Frank’s lips appear on his face and neck. Matt crumbles. He thrashes, groaning louder and louder because words, more God damn words. Delivered softly. Rustling across his skin. “Doing so good, Red. So good. Don’t you quit on me now.”  
  
            Matt grits his teeth. He’s better than this. And yet, Frank’s hands. Frank’s hands are everywhere and he’s sinking. He’s sinking into that warm, senseless place where his brain goes when his body is riding a high, and Frank knows all the right buttons to press. Knows all the places Matt wants to be touched. Knows when to back off, when to come back. Matt crumples under the realization.

            Why. Why he isn’t stopping this.

            Frank’s got him behind the knees. Dazedly, Matt tightens his thighs, knowing they’re headed up and yeah, right there, shit, it’s even better with movement, with the world careening wildly around them. Not knowing where he is or what the hell he’s doing. The city drawn like a curtain around them; winter sparking against the fiery skin; Frank breaking him so perfectly in two.

            They get to the ledge and things get interesting. Damn thing’s only about a foot wide and a foot tall, but Matt ends up sitting on it. His arms dig into Frank’s shoulders, but then Frank’s holding his hands, Frank’s kissing his palms, Frank’s pinning his wrists to the small of his back. Matt’s yanked back by his restrained hands, and he’s hanging over the roof, swaying slowly into the city as his whole body burns, from the inside out, for the one final push over the edge.    

* * *

 

Happy reading!

             

 


End file.
